Roles Reversed
by vrskaandrea
Summary: What if when Dean got hit in the head and the doors of Michael's cage opened, something happened that made them reverse their roles? That made Dean an archangel who could just snap his fingers and instantly kill demons? That made Michael nothing but a pitiful soul that kept drowning in his own nightmares? Come and see.


A/N:This story was inspired by _Blondie20000 _and my long discussion of a story called It's all in the blood by _Becciehill1976_. This idea sparked in my mind when _Secretwrittenword _caught up on the story and joined our discussion or what might happen and what we wanted to happen. (Last updated chapter of the said story is chapter 50). Also, add the fact that Michael was supposed to 'learn his lesson', and he never got the chance as they killed him off. Still, this story doesn't really relate to the story I mentioned and totally stands on its own. I just wanted to credit them for making this idea come to life.

Hope you like it.

* * *

Time was of no importance. And pretty much unmeasurable while one was stuck in a freezer in someone else's head. Never matter, he could wait, he had patience. He knew sooner or later something will happen, something will give and he will waltz out of that wretched bar, deleting the damn thing forever, burning it to the ground.

After the initial rage has subdued and Michael realized that screaming at the door will get him nowhere, he sat calmly on a pile of boxes and took a few deep breaths. This was nothing but a minor setback in his plan. One that will be rectified and then Michael will take great pleasure in breaking that damn hunter over and over again until he has absolute control.

I mean, he tried. He really tried with him. When he saw that the man was too stubborn and too driven, he opted to create him his own personal slice of heaven, a place Dean could do what he wanted, hunt and drink and play with those sticks and balls on that large green table.

Why they called it pool, Michael will never understand.

NO! He needed to stop dwelling over Dean and how he should have handled him, and focus on his future plans. Because once he got free, he would use his monsters to spread his grace further into the world, infecting it and eventually, Michael would be able to control every being alive. He would be God. He would take this creation away from his Father and use it to invade another world. And then another. And another.

If he could only get out of the freezer first.

That damn hunter had to figure out that in his mind, they were all on the same level, all equally powerless. Well, almost. Michael was never powerless, even in Dean's mind, he could take all three of them down. If only he hadn't tripped and landed in the damn fridge.

"I'll hold him! I'm the cage." Michael remembered those words and puffed an ironic laugh, thinking no human had the power to hold him, the almighty archangel; warrior of Heaven. He wasn't like the pathetic version they had on this Earth, the one that couldn't even get one lousy human to say a simple Yes. "Pfff!"

But Dean Winchester was no ordinary human, now was he?

No, the hunter defied him every step of the way, he was so stubborn and so self-righteous and... Suddenly Michael's thoughts snapped back to a memory, a memory of what was supposed to be the final battle of this Earth.

With Lucifer wearing his true vessel, and his counterpart wearing a cheap knockoff and with Dean there, telling his brother that it is going to be ok. That everything will be ok.

But no, it wasn't ok, no. Father made it happen, Lucifer fell from grace and there was nothing Michael could do about it, but keep saying it will be ok, even thought he knew it will never be... Wait.

Michael shook his head, he was mixing his own memories with Deans.

"Focus!" He ordered himself and the memory of Stull cemetery became vivid.

"It's ok, Dean. I got him. I got him." Huh, yes. Sam took control away from Lucifer. And as much as the archangel wanted to argue that the Devil was just a pathetic version of the bright star he once was, he still had to admit, Sam Winchester was strong.

Of course he had to be, to be Lucifer's perfect vessel, and still Michael couldn't help but see the irony. Their vessels were supposed to make them stronger, not beat them down.

Not that Michael was beaten.

The archangel huffed a sign of annoyance at his own thoughts and decided not to give the Winchesters another thought. He should take the time he has to consider all aspects of his plan for multiple world domination. And how he was eventually going to find his Father and make him pay for wrecking their family and the just abandoning them.

Creating another world and playing with his new toys, the old ones forgotten as if they never existed. But Michael did exist.

At least in Dean's head he did.

That damn hunter. Why couldn't he just play nice, roll over and play dead? Why did he have to fight him every step of the way? Oh, when the archangel got his hands on him, he us going to make him wish he was never born. Hell will be a picnic, a walk in the park compared to what Michael will do to him.

Dean was just so damn resilient. No matter how hard Michael punched him, he would always turn back for more. No matter how many times the archangel brought him to his knees, Dean would always get back up. No matter how many times he kept drowning him, Dean just kept swimming.

Like that damn fish Dory.

No, no Michael was not upset, he was not fuming, no. Michael was being patient, waiting for his moment to shine again and to plunge Dean into darkness and make sure he never resurfaces again.

* * *

Time was of no importance. But if Michael had to guess, he was locked up for a few days now. Or was it months? Years, perhaps? No, Dean would have aged, and he hasn't, not by much. Never the matter, the hunter was close to cracking and it was only a matter of time. Time Michael had an abundance of.

The thought of being locked in a box in the bottom of the ocean did unnerve him a bit, but he knew Dean wouldn't go thought with it. Not while Sammy was still out there.

Michael would never admit this, but he was a bit amazed at how Dean never gave up on his brother, never let him down. And he was supposed to represent a version of him, just like Sam was supposed to represent Lucifer. But in all fairness, they weren't like his brother and he, not at all.

Well, at least Dean wasn't.

At the end, Dean saved his brother, didn't kill him.

Dean would probably go against his father's wishes too if it meant to protect his little brother. And that is something one would find very admirable.

But not, Michael, no, Heaven's forbid.

To admire a human, especially the one that is about to get hit by a baseball bat in the head, would be foolish. Not that Michael would understand human fixation with sticks and balls, like those in baseball, or golf, but that was beside the point. The point was the roar of thunder in the distance that was announcing an incoming storm and had Michael grinning.

One by one, the bolts on the hinges that held the freezer door came undone and fell to the ground and Michael could almost see the light at the end of the tunnel, a neon sign that pointed to the exit and... a stunning redhead standing in his way?

Suddenly, the door blew wide open and there stood an outline of the witch, he arms raised high, head looking up at the sky as she chanted something Michael didn't recognized straight away. Purple whines arose from behind her, eight of them, doing nothing at first but simply hover in the air around their mistress. As the chanting came to its end, and as Rowena's voice grew deeper, the whines started to get restless. And just as the witch finished, the damn things lunged forth and dug deep into Michael's chest, lifting him slightly into the air, as he gasped for air, back arcing and his head falling back as he fought to... breathe?

Archangels didn't need to breathe.

So then why was Michael feeling like he was about to choke? His mind grew foggy and his eyelids felt heavy and he felt the unconsciousness tugging at him, whispering into his ear to just... let go... and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fight it.

* * *

Michel felt his grace burn, like it was attacking him, ready to consume him alive. There was a very bright light that obstructed his vision and even if he could focus, the pain was unbearable. He felt like he was up in the air, being held by hand that clutched around his shirt and there was a hand on his head. Oh, Lord, someone was smiting him. Michael started fighting, fighting with everything he got, but only mentally, physically he was almost rendered paralysed.

But then he heard a voice, a simple voice that filled him with some strange warmth, with hope, a voice that didn't even say his name, but someone else's.

"Dean!" Sam shouted as he slid under the two battling archangels, picked up an archangel blade and threw it in what he thought was Dean's hand. When the cool metal of the blade touched his fingers, they immediately curled up around it, and Michael found just enough strength to swing the blade and plunge it into his assailant's stomach. Only to gasp loudly as the light dimmed and Michael saw none other than his brother, or a version of him anyway, slipping out of his grasp, burning from the inside out. Dying. Dead. Gone. Again.

Michael would never admit as to how it made him sad the first time he did it to his Lucifer. And then again when he killed this Lucifer... Wait. Didn't he kill this Lucifer already? Was he having some strange déjà vu? Or was someone messing with time?

He panted, trying to catch his breath and still his beating heart as Sam and Jack turned to him. Sam had that relieved smile on his face that Michael had seen before, but didn't know what it meant. He didn't know what it meant for Sam to know that his greatest enemy, his biggest fear was finally defeated and whipped out of existence. That the creature that tormented him even when he wasn't really there was gone, at last.

"You... You did it..." Sam said with such a genuine smile filled with pure joy of finally being free, he failed to notice the sad look on his brother's face and that heartbroken feeling inside his chest. He vaguely remembered that this was when Dean said "No. We did it."

Dean... Where was Dean?

Suddenly, Michael felt like he was being pulled away, away from the light and into the darkness. He grunted in pain and tried to fight, he tried to damn hard, but couldn't help being bound and gagged and restrained, locked back again in his own mind. His own mind. His own personal hell. Of his making. Vaguely he could see Sam's worried face as the vision became so blurry, the images distorted and the sounds so distant.

"Dean!" was the last thing Michael heard before his head hit the cold church floor.

* * *

Michael gasped sitting upright in a bed. He tried to calm his breath while trying to figure out where he was, but try as he might, he couldn't get his breath under control. In fact it seemed to spiral into a full blown panic attach and Michael found himself choking, hot tears streaming down his face as some unknown fear completely consumed him.

_Focus!_ He ordered himself internally, thinking that if he spoke out loud his voice would break and that would be devastating for him. The fear, the pain, it all came from one place, from somewhere deep inside his chest and Michael set his hand on it as if he was trying to cover a big hole that was suddenly there. And it did in fact feel like there was something missing. Something big, Michael could feel it.

Feel it...

Feel...

Michael could feel.

His eyes went wide with that notion and he tried, tried to reach deep inside to his grace, to connect with it, but it just... wasn't there. His grace... It was gone. But how? Where? With all these questions tugging at his mind, the panic attack subdued and Michael tried to piece together what happened. He remembered the fridge, he remembered the witch and then he fought his brother again, but something was different about it. What did that witch do? Try as he might, the answers kept evading him. He wasn't going to find them inside of him, so he had to look outside.

Michael set his hands back on the bed he laid in, feeling it's warmth and softness. That had him wondering, but only for a moment whose bed it was. A quick glance around the room told him he was in the bunker, in Dean's room, on Dean's bed. Could that mean he was still possessing Dean? But if so, where was his grace? And where was Dean?

Michael swung his legs off the bed, stood up and winced as the pain shot through his feet, up his legs and spine, all the way up to his head, and he staggered front first, then back and fell back on the bed as his hand came to his temple. Michael grunted feeling dizzy and sore, and nauseous, things he had never felt before. Suddenly, bile rose up his throat and he barely managed to just lean forward and puke it out, the small amount there was, considering he hasn't eaten anything. Ever. But when was the last time Dean ate?

The smell that reached his nose and the taste he had in his mouth almost made him want to puke all over again, but his sore throat was so dry it threatened to close up on him. Water. He needed water. Michael got up, wincing again when pain shot through him again and staggered to the small sink. He opened the tap and supped his hands and drank like he hasn't drank water ever. At all. He let some pool up in his hands and splashed his face and just breathed in and out, still leaning over the sink.

For the first time, water didn't feel like a hydrogen and oxygen mixed together, no, it felt like... It felt nice. Refreshing. Energizing. Michael's breaths came faster and faster again, another panic attack ready to settle as the realization really sunk in. He was no longer an angel. He felt pain, hunger, thirst, he was sweating and was cold at the same time, he... He was feeling... His eyes went wide and heart rate escalated as he realized... He was human.

Michael shot up only to meet a familiar face looking at him through the mirror. Dean. He was still Dean, inside of Dean. But where was Dean? If Michael was still possessing him while his grace was stolen, the hunter would still be inside, his soul would occupy the body as well. But Michael couldn't feel a soul within him. But that could be because he was human, and humans couldn't feel souls.

Unknowing to Michael, there was a soul within him. But it was not Dean's, no. It was his own. Crafted from the spell Rowena threw, she herself uncertain of the side effects it would have.

Michael forced himself to calm as much as humanly possible and he took another look around the room. It was filled with things Dean liked, memories and clothes and it was only then that Michael realized he was completely naked. Feeling vulnerable and exposed, he quickly picked up discarded jeans and a T-shirt, mixture of Dean's sweat and Baby's oil hit him at once. He didn't quite hate that feeling.

Setting those thoughts aside, he felt like he needed to focus on his current situation. If he was indeed human and powerless, and was in the bunker, was he in danger? Would Samuel or Castiel come seek him out and... hurt him? Maybe... Maybe they thought he was Dean. It would be good if that is what they thought, he could use that to his advantage. And since he woke up in Dean's bed, the second option was the most likely one. But that did raise the question of who undressed him.

Only one way he could know for sure if the others thought him to be Dean. Only one way to know he would be able to escape with ease. He just had to reach the knob, and turn it and he would know the answer. If it was locked, then he was imprisoned here. But if it wasn't, he was free. Free to walk away, free to do whatever he wanted, free to...

Some strange anxiety filled his chest and Michael just stood and stared at the door for good ten minutes, not moving an inch. What if the door were locked, what would he do then? What if they weren't? What would he find on the other side? All of the sudden, the room felt like the safest place in the world. Safe. Familiar. Maybe... Maybe he should stay and wait.

Yes, wait. Wait for someone to come to him, and see how they treat him, what they thought of him to be. Yes, that was the better option. It was the best tactical decision Michael could make right now given the circumstances.

It absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that he might be scared to face the outside world, no.

So Michael came back to the bed and sat on it, running his hand over the soft sheets. He picked up the sheet that was covering him when he first woke up and brought it closer to his face, inhaling its' scent and immediately identifying it as Lilac. If he was still an angel, he might be able to distinguish the smell of the real thing as opposed to this fabricated one, but instead he found himself amazed as to how the humans were able to make their clothing smell so nice.

With the sheet still caressing his face, Michael felt some strange peace and tranquillity and slowly lowered himself to lay on the bed, closing his eyes and just... Breathed. Sam's voice was heard somewhere in the distance, but at that moment it didn't bother Michael, it didn't bring him out of his trance, but only served to deepen it. Even though it wasn't him Sam was speaking to.

"Dean?... Dean? I'm here, Dean. I'm right here..." There was a long pause followed by a deep sigh before Sam's voice echoed through the room. "C'mon, man. Come back to me. I need you. I need you, Dean... Please..."

" I... I can't do this without you, Dean. I can't... Please, come back to me..."

The voice faded and Michael felt a tightening in his chest. What is that feeling? Sadness? Sorrow? But why was he feeling that, he doesn't know where Dean is, not anymore. It never occurred to Michael that it might have been sympathy he was feeling. It never occurred to him those were the words his own brother spoke when he was thrown in the cage, broken and alone, not wanting to be left behind.

Suddenly, loud footsteps were heard outside the door and Michael sucked in a shallow breath when he saw and heard the door knob being turned. The doors weren't locked, but rather stuck, like they were misleveled. Angry muttering was heard on the other side and Michael felt a new wave of panic hit him like a train, only bigger and breathtaking. The mighty Michael was scared.

No, Michael doesn't get scared, doesn't get frightened by some silly notion of who might be behind the door. Still, he couldn't help the little jump he made when the door busted open, and a dark figure stumbled into the room, it's hand holding a side of it's head. The figure grunted loudly and staggered forward, only then realizing there was someone else in the room. And as the figure took another step into the light, Michael took a wary step backwards, uncertain of why he was scared.

"Who the hell are you?" A familiar voice came just as the figure came into light, revealing a well known face.

"Dean?" Michael asked with a small smile, a glimmer of hope in his green eyes.

"I. Asked. You. A. Question! Who. The hell. Are. You?" Dean's eyes flashed with anger as he took a threatening step towards Michael.

"I... I..." Michael's voice shook as he tried to speak, unsure what to say. He could almost feel the anger seeping out of Dean, if that was Dean at all, and something else along with it, something much more... Sinister. "Dean..." Michael said with his hands slowly rising in a non threatening display, as Michael took another step backwards.

"No... I am Dean. You're just another monster who messed with the wrong guy..." Dean hiss thought clenched teeth, eying his opponent, and fear filled Michael as the image of him gutted and bleeding out on the floor came to he was indeed human now, the hunter would have no problem doing that to him.

"What are you? A shapeshifter? A revenant? What?!" Dean demanded to know, inching closer, carefully eyeing his opponent.

Michael shook his head vigorously. "No... No... I'm..." What could he even say? Was being the archangel who tortured him and took over his body, used him and abused him be any better then a low level monster? Which option would make his... More painless?

"I'm... I'm Michael."

Dean's face covered in confusion and doubt before he huffed a laugh and said, still observing his lookalike with a dose of wariness. "No, you can't be. Michael, he... He is in the cage."

Michael opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and Dean watched, even more confused as he waited for his double to finally say something.

"I...I... I'm the other one." This is where Michael stopped breathing all together, waiting to see Dean's reaction.

"The... The other one?" Dean asked with a grimace of pain that flashed in his head, but clearly not remembering what Michael was talking about.

"From... From the other world..." Michael said with a wary tone, uncertain how Dean will react. The hunter set his hand on his head, clenched his teeth and hissed like he was having a headache. Like he was trying to remember something he forgot. Or was made to forget.

"You...you..." Dean tried, taking in a few deep breaths and finally looked up at the former archangel. "You're the Michael? The archangel?" His voice again came low and scary, as the two stared at each other for a moment. Reluctantly, after a minute or so, Michael slowly nodded.

Dean screwed his eyes shot and clicked his jaw taking yet another deep breath. "G't 't."

"Wha... What?" Michael could hear Dean's whisper, but knew it was a mistake that he said anything at all as Dean turned to look at him with hatred in his eyes.

"Get. Out." Dean said, his voice low and dangerous as he took a threatening step towards Michael.

"I... I ca..." Michael tried to say taking a fearful step back.

"Get! Out!" Dean said with so much anger and for a split second Michael swore he saw Dean's eyes ignite.

"I... I can't..." Michael felt his throat close up on him as the last step he took brought him to a wall and no more room to run to. All he could do, and did was to move a step to the left and right into a corner.

"If you're here, and you look like me, then we're not even here, and you're inside my head... So GET. THE FUCK. OUT!" Dean yelled leaning into Micahel's space, anger seeping off his lips. Michael's eyes went wide, his blood ran cold and pure terror made him crouch down and curl up into himself, but still staring at the hunter.

No. Not the hunter. The shadow of the wings that loomed over him. The shadow of wings, his wings. On Dean. He was frozen with fear and could only watch as Dean's hand reached out to him, and then everything just went black.

* * *

Michael woke up sitting upright in the bed, gasping for air. Again. A quick glance around the room told him he was still in Dean's room, but something was different about it, Michael just couldn't spot it. The dim light, the dresser, the sink. The bed, the TV, the desk. The nightstand, the weapons display, Dean slouched in the chair. Michael did a double take and the moment he laid his eyes on the hunter, the sight of wings flashed before his eyes and he started panicking again.

"Whoa, whoa, relax... Just relax. I'm not gonna hurt ya, see. I'm way over here and you're over there, safe and ok. Ok?" Dean said holding his hands so that Michael could see them. The look on his face was the one that he used when he had to tell a civilian about supernatural. Serious and careful, but not caring. Diplomatic and brief. Michael barely managed a nod, confused by everything, including his own display of emotions, but at least the panic has subdued.

"Ok, good. We don't want another repeat, do we?" Dean said.

"Rr... Repeat?"

"Yes. This is our... 115th loop, I think." Dean replied with a frown as he was trying to remember the exact number.

"Ll...Loop?" Michael's lower lip trembled as he spoke

"Yes, loop. And I am the only one of the two of us that remembers it. Now this is what I know so far. You are the archangel Michael who has now somehow lost his grace. I said yes to you to kill Lucifer and save my brother, or so you told me. You created this hellhole to keep me subdued, but something happened and... Well, that's all I got. Every time we reach that part, you start having a freakin' panic attack and the loop restarts. I got a few puzzle pieces that don't fit, like you crying, asking me not to smite you? And I do think you tried to apologize once, but can't be sure." Dean explained, all the while eyeing his lookalike with wary eyes. He wasn't really sure if he believed him or not, considering that was supposed to be Michael. Why would he tell Dean about how he tortured him? Where is the logic in that? But one thing was clear. Whether Michael lied or not, Dean needed him.

"Now, as much as I would like to get up and walk away, I can't. Not from my own head. So, we're stuck. Stuck until we figure this out." Dean added and waited for a reaction. The first few times the loop repeated, he approached the former archangel with anger , ready to fight, and each time he felt the anger bubbling up inside of him, ready to spill, he managed to freak the archangel so much that the guy passed out, and Dean would suddenly find himself sitting in the hard chair looking at his own sleeping form.

Michael's breath hitched a couple of times and he felt so pathetic. Was all his bravado, all his self-esteem gone along with his grace? Dean was human. Once. He wasn't acting like this, having panic attacks and passing out. No, he was strong, brave, fearless. Michael chanced a glance at the hunter. He could see the age lines that creased over his forehead, he could see the bags under his eyes. He remembers Dean's memories of sleepless nights and feeling all alone in the world. But each time Dean started to feel like that, weak and scared, he would take those feelings and shove them deep down. Lock them up and put on a mask of self-sufficiency and bravery.

So maybe it was time Michael did the same. Take these feelings and crush them into a small ball and put them in a box and throw it at the bottom of the... Oh, no. No... NO... Not the box, no. "No... Not the box, no. Please..." Tears filled his eyes and it was either let them fall or stuff them in the box. Oh the irony.

Michael jumped out of the bed and retreated as far away from Dean as he could, all the while muttering something about a box.

"A box? What box? There... There is no box here..." Dean tried to sooth, but it was clear he was slowly losing his temper with this guy. Some mighty archangel alright. But at least this time, he got a bit more of a straight answer.

"The... The box... – Michael hiccupped as he spoke – The Ma'lak box you built to trap me in and send me to the bottom of the ocean... Please, don't do that to me. Please... I... I can't... I..."

"Bottom of the ocean? If you're really human now, you would drown..." Dean said and suddenly a loud whining sound came from outside. Michael flinched as Dean shot off his chair and went to the door, opening them and peaking outside. He looked back and forth, left and right and then back in the room at Michael, his eyes saying there is nothing there. But then there was another sound, a familiar sound of... Water running. Dean took another peek outside and went pale.

Michael shrunk on himself when he saw Dean run towards him, expected everything but not to be pulled, rushed out of the room. Scared and confused, Michael didn't look as he allowed Dean to lead them out of the room, down the hall and into the kitchen. But there was supposed to be the war room here, not the kitchen. The layout was all wrong.

None of that mattered when Michael felt could water rush over his bare feet, rapidly rising. Dean ushered them out of the room and down a hall and lead them to the storage room that was supposed to be on the complete opposite side of the bunker. But who cared as the water was now above their ankles and rising fast. Michael found himself clinging onto Dean more than his pride would usually allow him to, but he felt he had no choice. Not with the water above the knees.

Finally some luck! The sun shone upon them as they reached the library and just a few steps down was the war room. And on the other side... Stairway to freedom. So just a few steps deeper into the water and they would be free. Michael would be free.

He stepped into the water carefully, as if he wished he didn't want to disturb it or whatever might lurk within and took a few wary steps forward, Dean just a step away before him. The hunter was the first to reach the staircase and as he grabbed on the railing, he looked back. For a split second Michael thought he would just up and leave, leave him behind. But Dean extended his hand towards the archangel and a very short smile flashed upon Michael's face, gone faster than a blink of an eye. Michael reached forward and just as he grabbed Dean's hand, a huge wave of water came crashing into the room, swiping Michael off his feet and submerging him down under.

He could hear Dean's shouting as he too tried to call the hunter's name, salty ocean water coming into his mouth making him gag and gasp, fighting for air as the current took him far into a hallway filed with nothing but pure darkness.

* * *

Michael woke up groaning. His whole body felt sore, his skin burning, weakness crawled into him. Barely managing to lift his head, Michael summon all his strength and opened his eyes. The sight that welcomed him was scary as Hell. Considering it was the literal Hell. Michael tried to move, but found himself suspended by his arms and his legs.

Strangely enough, he didn't feel as scared as he was back at the bunker. Oh, yeah, Michael remembered the bunker and all the loops now, but he still couldn't understand why he felt so frightened, feeling like he could die just from the fear itself. But this wasn't the time to dwell on that. No, he had to get out, get out of the chains and out of the room and out of hell.

He tugged the chains, but of course they wouldn't give. He was only human, no grace, no powers, no... Super strength. He had to think of a way out. He just needed something, someone to come and he could sweet-talk letting him go. Make a deal. Not like the concept was unfamiliar, after all he made a deal with Dean. Who cares if he went back on it?

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Even us demons have the common decency to hold up our deals." A voice echoed from the deep darkness of the room, and Michael flinched feeling like his mind was read. Slowly, a figure came into view and Michael recognized the old demon even with the dentist he was currently wearing.

"Alistair..." Michael growled, frowning in disgust.

"My, my. How the mighty have fallen. And I get the honor of having such a treat down here with us." Alistair said gleaming. When Michael didn't respond, Alistair huffed a laugh and started circling his prey like it ever had a chance to get out of there. Alistair eyed him head to toe, and Michael suddenly shivered, only then realizing he was completely nude and exposed, put on display like a museum piece.

Alistair came around and faced the former archangel who still held his head high and proud." Oh, I am going to have so much fun breaking you."

Despite himself, Michael paled and shivered at these words.

For the next thirty years, Michael shouted out, screamed and whined as he was torn into, cut and hit, dismembered and put together. Gutted, slashed and raped. Had his eyes gauged out, his bones broken, and his teeth pulled out, repeatedly. And they just kept coming up with new ways of hurting him, but aside his cries and screams, he did not beg. He did not plea. He did not say a word. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how painful it got, there was some strange hope inside of him that kept him going.

But over the course of thirty years, with each passing day, and with each torture session, the hope got smaller and smaller. No one will come. Not for him. In all the thirty years Michael never allowed himself to shed a tear. Not until that moment. The moment he realized he was all alone.

"Good. Now we're getting somewhere." Came Alistair's voice from the shadows, but as he came closer, Michael could see two figures approach and he gasped loudly, seeing a familiar face on Alistair's protiege. No, no, this... This was impossible.

"Here, Dean. Your first soul. Nice and ready for you. All you have to do to keep of the rack is to... Slice and Dice..." Alistair said with a smirk. Michael's breath hitched and he went completely pale as Dean just stared at him, scared and compliant, not seeing who it was before him. Dean didn't recognize him.

Dean slowly approach, wary and fearful, holding a knife Alistair put in his right hand. He lifted his left one, and placed his fingers against Michael's chest, swallowing hard. "I... I am sorry." Dean said as he plunged the knife into Michael's stomach, leaning on him as he did, his lips coming close to Michael's ear. "Please, forgive me." Dean whispered in his ear and pulled the knife upwards, slashing through Michael all the way up to his throat. The former archangel gagged and tried to speak as blood came gushing out. Dean reached inside of him, wrapped his cold fingers around Michael's heart and pulled it out of his chest. The sight of his own still beating heart in Dean's hand left him gasping for air, unable to draw a breath and the lack of oxygen caused his head to grow heavy until darkness swapped over him.

For the next ten years, Michael endured Dean's torture, all the while speaking to him, trying to wake him up from this nightmare. Trying to tell him they will get out of there together. He never cried, he never she'd a tear, only grunted and hissed at the pain, always talking, always assuring this was nothing but a bad dream and that they will get out.

In just ten years time, Michael lost all hope that Dean will hear him as the hunter kept going and going, like he didn't hear a word Michael said. Like he was nothing but a robot, doing what he was programmed to do. And in just ten years time, Michael shed another tear. But this one was the first of its kind. The first that didn't fall for him, but for the hunter before him. Michael, the fearsome ruler of Heaven and leader of all angels never felt so powerless and pathetic as he did right now, all because he realized he could not save Dean. He could not snap him out of this, he could not help him escape this nightmare.

Michael could destroy worlds. But he couldn't save one soul.

The tear fell unheard and unspoken as Dean kept working, peeling off pieces of skin off Michael's body, seemingly unfazed by the small shake of the ground. Michael lifted his head as the scared voices became louder and louder, echoing inside his torture dungeon. Suddenly, deep in the darkness, a door busted open and the bright light shone upon the room, completely cleansing it of all that was unholy. And as the bright light blinded him, Michael could still see a figure inside of it, but could no longer see the hunter that was there only seconds ago. A pang in his chest hurt more then when Dean reached and took out his heart, but Michael didn't know why.

A voice roared as the figure, the angel approached, and Michael wished his hands were free so that he could clap them over his ears, fearing he will go deaf from the angel's true voice. But considering he hasn't gone blind from the sight of the angelic true form, it is only natural to assume he wouldn't go deaf. After all he was nothing but a tormented soul on a rack, down in Hell. Or was it someone's head? Michael felt his own head too heavy and he felt so tired, only then realizing he hasn't slept in forty years.

"Ok, so you were right. I took your grace. I believe you now." Came an all too familiar voice, and Michael felt someone tug at the chains, breaking them with ease and then catching him as he fell forward, unable to stand on his own feet. "Oh, come on. I can't carry you and fight these demons. You gotta help me out here, man."

"D... Dean?"

"Who else would it be? We are inside my head, Mike."

Mike. Dean just called him Mike. A strange feeling filled his heart and Michael grunted, but summon whatever strength he had left to at least stand on his own two feet. Dean still supported him as he walked and together they both made it out of the room, only to be flooded with dark shadows and black smoke that seemed to wedge itself between them, trying to separate them. Dean fought and everywhere he set his hand, a bright light shone, smiting whatever was in his way, the other hand holding Michael's wrist at first, but as the shadows kept pulling him away, Dean clasped his hand over Michael's, intertwining their fingers. Together, they could get out.

Dean fought, with all his might, and Michael did nothing but watch, weak and powerless to do a damn thing. All he could do is watch the hunter and be amazed by his persistence and his willingness to fight. In his shoes, Michael would have given up. In his shoes, Michael wouldn't even bother with a simple soul, like the one he was right now. And that's what made this even more painful. Michael didn't deserve any of this. He didn't deserve to be saved. He deserved to burn in Hell.

And as Dean fought off the shadows, smiting the very last one of them, he hadn't noticed the fire that slowly crept up on them, caressing Michael's bare body like an old mistress and by the time Dean turned around, the fire already took Michael away.

* * *

Michael woke up under the covers, his hand still clenching something he thought was Dean's hand, but as he lifted the covers, he found it was a soft brown teddy bear. He frowned at it, but found himself attached to it, not wanting to let it go.

Michael looked around the room, confused as to what he would be doing in a child's room. He wanted to go and explore it, but felt to frightened to even get out of bed as the branches outside his window created strange scary shapes and he felt like it was darkness trying to suck him back in. So he ducked under the covers again, like any child would do, and hugged his teddy bear harder.

Just as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness around him, Michael noticed a few strange things. First, he felt small, smaller then the things that were around him. One look at his hands told him even they were too small and too soft to be one of a grown man. The rockets on the covers and the batman pyjamas he had on clearly suggested he was regressed into a child. But when he caught his refection in a mirror on the dresser, cold green eyes stared back at him, along with Dean's familiar features.

Michael didn't even notice smoke filling the room as he stared at the reflection, a part of him knowing it was just that, a reflection, but another, small part wishing it was the actual Dean. He had no idea when he grew so attached to the hunter, but felt like he needed him. Like he was all Michael had left.

Something scratched the back of his throat and Michael coughed and then inhaled, feeling the smell of fire in his nostrils. He could hear some commotion outside the room, like it was Mary, John... a little baby crying... Oh, no... No... This was one of _those_ memories. One of those memories the old Michael dug up, knowing Dean never remembered them and one of those memories Michael would show him when the time was right, bringing him closer to breaking and fully owning him. But that, that was the old Michael. This Michael was broken and scared, paralysed with fear. Fear that if Dean came for him this time, which he hoped he would, with all his heart, he would see this, he would remember this. And it would devastate him. So Michael decided he was going to break out of this one on his own. He will reach the knob and open the door and save Sammy and run outside of the burning house, all on his own.

But Michael was wrong. He wasn't as strong as Dean. He couldn't find Sammy, though he heard the baby's cries, and soon it became too dark with smoke and Michael felt it fill his lunges, but he wouldn't stop. No, he would find Sammy and get out. It never occurred to him, there was no baby there, not really. It was just an echo in Dean's memory that kept crying and kept Michael running around in circles.

Feeling close to passing out, Michael ran into a random room and found himself back in his, in Dean's childhood room, with the teddy bear in his arms. He closed the door and tried to stuff his blanket under the door, trying to prevent the smoke from entering, but he clutched the stuffed toy as a shadow appeared under the door and he immediately ran away from the door.

The doors banged as the shadow pounded on them, trying to break in and Michael felt warm tears seeping down his face, a sob escaping his child lips. He couldn't control the fear that took over him, and he ducked under the covers once more, shivering. Logically, Michael knew there were far better places to hide, but the child within him simply took over and decided that whatever it was out there wouldn't see him.

The supreme archangel Michael squealed as the cover's were thrown off of him and scooted all the way to the headboard. "Hey, hey... It's ok, little buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Michael immediately shot up when he heard Dean's voice and he practically ran to him and hugged his legs, sobbing. "Hey, It's gonna be ok. I'll get you out of here."

"But... But Sammy. We... we have to save Sammy..." Michael sniffed and wiped his nose in his PJs, looking up at Dean with wide pleading eyes. Dean crouched next to him and spoke slowly, trying to sound as reassuring as he could.

"It's ok, buddy. Sammy's not here. He's good, he's safe... There is no one in the house but us. Now let's get you out of here, ok?" Dean took Michael's tiny hand in his, got up and turned to lead them out of the house. But Michael tugged at the hand, not letting himself be pulled from the spot. Dean turned and a slight frown of confusion flashed upon his face. It was as if up to that point, he had no idea the kid was actually Michael, until he spoke, the question too serious and too much pain written on that small face to be the one of a child.

"Why... Why do you keep saving me?"

Dean just stared at him for a moment, his confused expression unchanged as he seemed to try and figure out the answer himself. Sighing, he crouched down again, and looked into Michael's eyes.

"I don't know what happened between you and me, I don't remember it. I clearly have your powers, and if what you said is true... We are just lying unconscious somewhere and we... I need to wake up. To make sure Sam is alright, to make sure Jack is alright and... We need to solve this. And for that, I need you. You might not have your powers now, but you still have your memories, memories of how to use them, and together, we can solve this, put us back the way it was supposed to be. Make it right."

Each word spoken was like a knife to Michael's heart, because Dean still didn't know, he still didn't remember what Michael did to him and he wanted to help him. He could have just chosen to let Michael drown, to let him be butchered, to let him burn, take his powers and cleanse the world of anything supernatural like a true hunter would no doubt try to do. But no. Dean didn't want the power, he just wanted his family. Guilt weight down on Michael as he remembered his plans on how he would eventually subdue the hunter, killing his family and making him watch.

"Now can we get out of here?" Dean asked, snapping Michael's attention back on the situation at hand. He nodded and followed Dean out of his room, holding his hand. But they only reached two doors down the hallway when a explosion caused the door before them to bust open and a loud scream to come from the inside. Michael frowned, there wasn't supposed to be anyone in the house.

Dean made sure to keep the little Michael behind him as he peeked inside the burning room. His eyes roamed around, not finding a thing, and just as he was going to dismiss the idea that there was someone there, a scared whimper came from above him. Dean looked up and saw none other then his mother in an all too familiar position. Dean's heart started pounding as he watched her burn, unable to come closer and pull her down, because every time he tried, the flames would intensify and not let him pass. He feel on his knees and he watched, with tears in his eyes as his mother died, screaming, burned alive. Michael was right there beside him, his tiny hand holding Dean's, squeezing it in an attempt of comfort. This... This was his doing. This was the memory that he wanted to twist and show Dean to break him. And it did the job perfectly.

The flames consumed the entire room for a moment, and when the smoke cleared, his mother wasn't on the ceiling anymore. She was there, right in front of him. Sam was by her side and so were Cas and Jack. All four surrounded by fire, but there was o fear in their eyes, there was no hope that Dean will save them. No. There was condemnation and conviction. He tried to reach them, he extended his hand, but they all just glanced at it and then back at Dean, but otherwise didn't move while the fire burned brighter. It was like they would rather burn then trust him.

All the while Michael was tugging at Dean to leave, trying to tell him it wasn't real, it was just a fixed memory, an illusion, but the words never reached Dean. He completely froze, staring at his family confused and heartbroken. Michael managed to pull him out of the hallway and eventually out of the house, but only because Dean was so lost trying to understand why would they do that, why would they act like that.

Once outside, Michael let go of Dean and made him face him. "It isn't real, Dean. It... It's just another nightmare." Michael said, too ashamed of the real truth.

"A... a nightmare?" Dean asked with his lower lip shaking along with his hands. This was too nerve wrecking, too overwhelming. Michael tried to find the words to comfort him, to make him snap out of it and focus on bringing them back to consciousness, but there wasn't really anything he could say. All of this was his fault. Al of this was his doing. And the irony of the situation is that all these nightmares were supposed to make Dean feel guilty and useless, not Michael. Oh, how the roles have changed.

"You... You said you made these... You confessed you made them to subdue me, to keep me compliant..." Dean spoke slowly, contemplating every word he said, looking up and then down at his hands, before he his his face in them. "You... You did this..." he whispered. Dean's head shot up and turned to look at the small figure with pure rage in his eyes. "You... You... I remember... I remember everything you did... Out there and... In here..." Dean took an angry step towards the former archangel, his eyes glowing bright blue, the shadow of his wings unfurling. Michael took a few steps back, fell backwards and scudded, terrified. Dean reached for his little neck, not letting the image of a child, of his little self bother him, he could see beyond that. Just as he was about to reach Michael, a voice echoed around them, scared and uncertain if he would even be heard.

"Dean? Dean, you gotta wake up..." Jack's voice shuddered as he spoke. "Please, Dean... We need you. I need you... Sam, Cas, Mary... They took them. I... I can't help them Dean, I... I don't have my powers anymore... I... I'm useless. I need you Dean, please. "

Both Michael and Dean paused to listen, Dean's anger subduing, Michael's fear growing. Because he knew what Dean would do. He would go to his family, they needed him. Michael needed him too, but he had no claim over the hunter, he never really did. From the moment Dean said Yes, it was Dean who would end up changing him and breaking him, not the other way around. But it wasn't just that he was changed and broken. It was the fact that now that Dean knew the truth, and he was needed elsewhere, he would go. He would walk away and leave Michael alone. All alone.

And in a blink of an eye, and in a flap of the wings, Dean was gone.

* * *

Michael woke up gasping once more. He was lying perfectly still on something hard, and felt too stiff to move. The air around him seemed stale, but Michael couldn't really figure out why that was, as he was surrounded by complete darkness. He groaned and his head hurt, feeling some odd pressure in his head and in his chest, like he couldn't really breathe. He lifted his hand with the intention to set it on his hurting head, but just as he lifted it a few inches above him, his hand hit something hard. Michael sucked a shuddering breath and swallowed hard as his hands shot up to feel around. And the more the moved feeling the flat surfaces around him, the more panic started to set in, the more erratic his breathing became and the harder his heart pounded.

Hard surface on his left, hard surface on his right, hard surface behind him, hard surface before him. No, no, no... NO, NO, NO! NO! NO! In just under a minute, Michael was in a full blown panic attack, uselessly pounding on the walls of the Ma'lak box, screaming his head off, crying his eyes out, his heart threatening to explode on him.

The idea of being locked in a freezer didn't seem so bad now. At least there was light, there was room to move. In here, he couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't breathe.

He had no idea how much time it passed might have been hours, might have been years, but eventually Michael stopped screaming, stopped yelling, stopped crying. He did nothing but breathe shallowly and stare somewhere in the distance.

Dean left. He finally managed to lock him in the box and he left. Dean left.

Michael was alone. All alone. All by himself, with nothing but guilt and despair to eat him alive from within.

Dean left. Dean left to go be with his family. He left.

And Michael was alone. Alone and broken.

He stayed like that, still and forgotten for what seemed like centuries until one day, a cool, sharp feeling probed his forehead. It was gone as fast as it came, but after another minute, it happened again. And then again. And again. Michael managed to dislodge his hand and pull it through between himself and he wall to touch his forehead. What he found there made his blood run cold.

Water. And not just any water, salt water. He was on the bottom of the ocean. He was locked in the Ma'lak box and thrown at the bottom of the ocean. Even if he still had his powers, even if he was still an archangel, he still wouldn't be able to get out of there. What chances he had of getting out as a mere human? And on top of everything, the box was leaking. Oh, God, he is going to drown.

No, he isn't going to drown, just like he hasn't suffocated This was all in his head. In Dean's head. No, he isn't going to drown, he is going to be drowning and drowning non stop. A never ending vicious circle of the Hell that was his own creation.

The water drops kept falling on his forehead, making him wince every time that happened. He was reminded of the torture stories the medieval guards used to perform on their prisoners to make them talk. Only Michael didn't have what to say. And no one to say it to. But the water kept falling, it kept poking at his head, each drop pounding in his mind, making him unable to think, interrupting every thought that started, making him go mad. Until he snapped.

"Stop! Please, just stop! No more, I beg of you! I... I can't take it anymore, please..." His voice roared like a thunder, which each spoken word toning down until it was nothing but a sobbing whisper. "Please... I'm sorry. I never..." He stopped himself from telling a lie. "I wanted to do this to you, I wanted to break you... But you, even as a human, you're so much stronger then me... I'm sorry I never saw that. I... thought of you as weak and pathetic, but you are so much more then that, so much more then I will ever be. You were my true sword, my strength, my everything. And... I know that with the roles reversed... You.. You don't need me anymore... But I need you..."

Pausing to take a deep shuddering breath, Michael continued.

"I... I know I don't... Deserve... No... I know you don't need me, I get it. I am useless without my powers and you have all you need to face any threat and come victorious. I get that... But... Can you, just... Please, just... Stop this? Just... Let me go... Let me die... Please?"

The silence was deafening and heartbreaking. But after a minute or so, Michael realized that the water has stopped dripping. The silence broke, a cracking sound filled the box and Michael sucked in a sharp breath. The cracking sound echoed a few more times and then stopped. Silence befell the confined space once more.

Michael just stared into nothing waiting.

Walls broke and water poured inside, straight into his face and his mouth, filling his lungs, making him unable to breathe. Michael fought, he fought with all his might to further open the hole, scratched and pushed, just for a chance to get out. He might have begged for death, but the human instincts to survive overtook him and he pushed and clawed and fought and finally he broke through.

He swam like a mad man, swam upwards towards the light, even thought he never learned how to swim. But he was kicking and shoving the water, through the water, and whatever oxygen remained within him seemed to be helping him rise. The surface was there, right there, the light ever so bright and blue and he could almost see an outline of a person standing there, looming.

Slight joy filled his heart, someone was there. Someone was there for him. It didn't even matter who, as long as he wasn't alone anymore. The closer he got the more it seemed like it was none other than Dean, staring at him through the surface, his face slightly blurry from the water. Michael's lips were adorned with a radiant smile, and his hand reached out towards Dean, but just as it was about to break the water surface, something wrapped around his leg and held him in place.

Horror washed over him as he tried to wiggle out, tried to reach and remove whatever it was, but there was nothing but darkness there. His focus was split between what was restraining him and the hunter's retreating form above him and he started tossing and shouting and crying out, but the water muffled all his screams. His hand reached out to the surface in a plea for help, but he blinked and Dean was gone, the only thing remaining was the light that started dimming.

Michael stopped reaching and closed his eyes, his hand slowly drifting downward. All hope was gone. Michael felt the lack of oxygen began to scramble his brain, making him feel tired and beyond ready to let go.

Suddenly, a hand reached into the water and with one swift motion, Michael was pulled out to the surface. He opened his eyes and met the gaze of those familiar emerald greens and Dean pulled him and helped him up to a dock. Michael climbed on and remained half sitting half lying on the ground, breathing heavily, trying to regain his strength. Dean seemed to take a step back to give him some space and when Michael looked up at him, he saw Dean, just staring at him. Not a shred of emotion there, and it was more unnerving to Michael than anything else Dean could have done. Because lack of any emotions could mean he was nothing more but an illusion his mind created to torture him further.

"I'm not a fucking illusion." Dean said, his expression unchanged, and Michael gasped silently. Of course, Dean could read his mind, feel whatever he was feeling, just like Michael could when the roles were reversed. Michael looked down and seemed to shrink into himself. There was nothing left to say.

Dean came back and Michael couldn't be happier, but he might leave again, and Michael knew he had no right to ask him to stay, no right to ask anything of him. A part of him wondered if Dean was able to wake up and help his family, but he dared not ask. He heard Dean let out a heavy sign but dared not look up. All he could do is wait for his verdict.

"I managed to wake up. And to help Jack. And save mom and Sam and Cas..." Dean spoke crouching down next to the former archangel. "I guess... I guess I sort of owe you for that." Michael snapped his eyes up, confusion in his eyes as he stared warily at Dean.

Dean smirked, but there was still some resentment in his eyes that told Michael he would have to work hard to mend the mess he made, but he will be allowed to try. There was hope for him after all. "Wanna see?" Dean asked. Michael nodded bowing his head.

The medow that was on the other side of the dock melded into a wide screen of sorts and Michael watched through Dean's eyes as the hunter woke in his bed, in his room with Jack just at the door, leaving. He saw the kid run towards the hunter and speak, but Michael couldn't hear a thing. He glanced at Dean and saw him frowning, like he was uncertain of why there was no sound. Dean got up and walked over to the screen and hit it like one would hit an old TV to make it work better. In an instant, the sound kicked in, but by that time Dean was standing in front of a door that had a bar sign above them. Jack was right by his side, and Dean glanced at him and nodded before he turned and kicked the door in, making every head in the room snap at him.

The scene that welcomed him was horrific. Bobby, the one of Michael's world lied on the far wall, his head split apart and clearly dead. Castiel was crouching in a ring of what Michael assumed was holy fire, the angel clearly hurt, his skin bleeding and burnt. Mary lied on the floor, unconscious and her breaths shallow, a knife sticking out of her stomach. And Sam? Sam was curled up on the floor beside his mother, tears streaming down his face, fear and dread written all over his face. Until he saw Dean that is.

Lucifer... No, his vessel, Nick stood there with some pompous fool of a demon who thought it would be wise to screw with the Winchesters, both men eyeing the newcomer with distaste and a complete lack of fear. Naomi stood to the side, and her eyes went slightly wide, distressed, but silent. Like she dared not move.

"Ah, the other brother. Welcome to the party. My name is Kipling, and I..." The pompous fool of a demon tried, but Dean cut him off.

"What are you trying to do?" He asked too calmly, and could see Naomi stiffen up, but Nick and Kip didn't react.

"Well, if you must know, Nick here and I are trying to bring out Mater back. And you, my friend just brought us the last ingredient needed." Kipling said eyeing the kid beside Dean. The hunter glanced Jack's way and in that split second Kipling motioned for the other demons to attack. With a smirk on his face he watched as the demons advanced towards the hunter, not find it unnerving that the hunter didn't even flinch. Just as the demons got there, Dean raised his hand, snapped his fingers and – poof – they were gone.

Paling in fear, Kipling tried to smoke out and just as the last ounce of his demonic soul left to body, Dean snapped his fingers and the smoke exploded into thin air. Nick gulped looking from the place the smoke explode to back to the hunter. Dean slowly walked towards the human as Nick visibly began to shake and just as he raised his hand, Nick pissed himself. Dean huffed in disgust, set his fingers on his head and knocked him out. Not moving from the spot, he glanced at Naomi, and smirked.

"Bet you would have taken flight already if you had your wings, huh?" Dean said. "Go. Go back to Heaven and do not come down, ever again." Washed over with relief, Naomi fled out the door. Dean would have probably killed her, but he felt just how weak she was, just how weak the Heaven was and he knew it needed every angel it could get.

With another snap of his fingers the fire was extinguished, but Cas never moved from the spot, looking up at Dean fearful and wary. "It's me, Cas." He said, but Cas didn't seem to quite believe him. He could feel the grace pumping through his friend, he could see the outline of his wings. Still, if it was Michael, he wouldn't have called him Cas.

Dean looked away, slight hurt in his eyes and focused on his mother and brother. He could see Sam flinch and suck a breath as he came toward them and crouched down, And Dean looked at his brother, his eyes trying to pass out every possible reassurance that it really was him. He reached and gripped the knife that was sticking out of Mary and much to Sam's horror, he pulled it out. But the second it was out, Dean placed his hand over the wound and bright blue light shone form it, healing his mother. Her breathing evened out and she fell into a calm sleep, resting.

Dean looked up at his brother. They just stared at one another, questions in Sam's eyes along with uncertainty and fear, a pleading look in Dean's. For a full minute they just stared at each other, searching through each other's eyes like they were having a conversation. Sam was the first ot break and he came closer and hugged his brother tightly.

"I... I thought I lost you." He whispered into Dean's ear.

"You can never lose me , Sammy." Dean replied.

* * *

"Took me a while to explain everything, well, everything I knew, anyway. I don't know how, but we were thrown back in time at that moment we battled Lucifer, all though, I don't remember fighting him for the second time..." Dean spoke as the video on the screen faded.

_I do_... Michael thought, his eyes still low on the ground. Dean glanced at him, frowning and opened his mouth to ask, but must have decided against it, as he closed it and looked up at the sky before continuing.

"Any way, they have been trying to find a way to wake us... To wake me, clearly not sure which one of us would they wake." He huffed a laugh before he continued. "I told Sam all he had to do was get in trouble and voila."

Michael chanced a brief half smile at those words, still bowing his head, not daring to look up at Dean.

"They asked me about you, you know? I told them the truth, I told them something has happened and that I control your powers and your grace now and that you... Cas went inside and took a look. He confirmed it. I am the angel now, and you... You are nothing but a soul." Dean said with a wide mixture of feelings that summed up into a constipated facial expression.

Michael's lower lip trembled. He wanted to ask what that meant for them what they were going to do, hoping that Dean won't just lock him somewhere and throw away the key. He flinched when he remembered Dean could hear his thoughts and dared to look up in Dean's eyes. Dean seemed to contemplate on what to do, and ultimately signed.

"I'm not gonna lock you away in a corner of my mind. We are stuck together for now and we might as well play nice. You are... Stuck here, in my head. And that's where you'll be." Dean spoke.

Michael let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling the tears of joy filling his eyes. That was so much more than he could hope for. Dean turned to the sky and looked up for a moment again, and then spoke again.

"I'll be here too. Not always visible as I gotta take control out there, but I will be listening...If you ever choose to say something. "

Dean paused and looked down at the soul who still didn't have the courage to look up at him, but mustered enough to say two words.

"Thank you."


End file.
